


Strike Force Delta

by lil_1337



Category: Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Gen, Mission Fic, de-aged Clint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-21
Updated: 2012-12-21
Packaged: 2017-11-21 23:20:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/603167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lil_1337/pseuds/lil_1337
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for The Hawkeye Christmas Exchange at <a href="http://clint-hawkeye.livejournal.com/profile"><img class="i-ljuser-userhead"/></a><a class="i-ljuser-username" href="http://clint-hawkeye.livejournal.com/"><b>clint_hawkeye</b></a> for <a href="http://pastellschwarz.livejournal.com/profile"><img class="i-ljuser-userhead"/></a><a class="i-ljuser-username" href="http://pastellschwarz.livejournal.com/"></a><b>pastellschwarz</b>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strike Force Delta

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pastellschwarz](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=pastellschwarz).



> Prompts:  
> -Clint being de-aged and the others (Phil, Natsha, Tony) haveing to take care of him.  
> -Clint being total BAMF and rescuing the others  
> -What really happened in Budapest

The smoke that filled the warehouse was a sickly purplish pink. It was dense and sticky like wading through a badly mixed batch of cotton candy. The screams of pain were muffled and somewhat indistinct, muffled by the heavy residue that hung in the air. The occasional explosion lit up the building leaving the smell of burnt plastic and hot metal in its wake. Scattered gunfire sounded through the building accompanied by the ting of bullets ricocheting off metal and the more solid thunk as they were imbedded in wood or another, softer, material.

From his spot up in the rafters Clint could barely make out where Natasha was using a large wooden crate to protect herself from the suppressive fire being laid down by the retreating Hydra agents. He shot off two arrows in quick succession effectively taking out both of the agents who were firing on her. She was up and running for the door ducking low and trusting Clint to take out anyone who might be gunning for her. Between her and the S.H.I.E.L.D agents covering the door the final round up and capture was just about done.

He stayed where he was, above the smoke, watching until she was clear. The grappling hook arrow that he shot hit the rafter closest to the door as Natasha passed the jam moving out into the cleaner, wet air of the night. Without pausing Clint launched himself into the air swinging low so the bottoms of his boots just barely missed the smoke which had morphed into the sickly yellow color of a flattened banana slug. Below and in front of him there was a pop and sparks sprayed in all directions as if the fuse of the world's biggest sparkler had been set alight. As he passed over, pulling himself into the tightest ball possible, there was a whoosh of superheated air accompanied by the stench of sulfur and something that smelled strangely like talcum powder mixed with the distinctive odor of baby formula.

As the cloud engulfed him Clint coughed and gagged taking the fumes deep into his lungs. He was hit with a sudden intense case of vertigo and almost lost his hold on the cable, maintaining his grip only through sheer force of will. Then he was out into the rainy Hungarian night. Water hit his skin and it was all he could do not to scream and let go. It felt like every inch of his body was on fire. He whimpered as he hit the rutted asphalt driveway in a barely controlled slide before everything went black.

*****

It was less than a minute before Phil skidded to a stop where Natasha was bent over Clint's form. The sound of the whimper echoing over the comm spurring him on before he even knew he was moving. Despite the storm induced gloom Phil could tell there was something wrong in the tense way she held herself. The shape of the figure on the ground seemed wrong as well, too flat in places as if the material of Clint's suit was lying empty instead of encasing him they way they should be.

Phil dropped to his knees beside Natasha demanding a sit rep. She shrugged, eyes hooded and shuttered, then shifted so he had a clear view. Gone was the man that Phil knew almost as well he did himself. In his place was a small boy. Clint's bow was clutched in the child's right hand even though his small fingers didn't even come close to being able to hold it. The bow lay along side the boy as if it had been laid there to give a sense of scale. In comparison the child seemed tiny; fragile in a way that went straight to Phil's heart. The shallow rise and fall of his, Clint's, chest indicated that he was alive though not currently conscious.

Natasha and Phil exchanged a glance, questions and answers passed back and forth without a word being spoken. Carefully Phil removed his jacket and wrapped the boy in it before picking him up. The bow hung from his limp fingers for a second before sliding down to land gently where the rain was beginning to gather in a low point of the driveway. Chin set firmly, Phil hurried towards the waiting black SUV leaving Natasha to gather Clint's gear.

*****

Back at the apartment that doubled as a safe house in the more upscale part of Budapest Phil lay the child on the bed in the single bedroom. After drying the boy carefully Phil traded out his jacket for one of Clint's t-shirts. It was worn soft from use and was large enough to make a comfortable night shirt. There was nothing that could be converted into underpants even in an emergency so Phil tucked the boy in and hoped for the best. At worse the mattress would need to be replaced and all things considered that was the smallest detail he had to deal with at the moment.

After verifying that the boy, Phil still couldn't bring himself to think of the child as Clint, was breathing easily and curled into a fetal position he dimmed the lamp and stepped into the other room leaving the door partly open in case the child called out.

Pulling out his S.H.I.E.L.D issued cell phone Phil dialed a number that he only called when a mission went sideways. “Sir, we have a problem.” Phil didn't bother with lead ins or preambles. They weren't really his style and Director Fury preferred his medicine without the spoonful of sugar to smooth it.

“Report.”

“After coming into contact with several substances in the warehouse we were sent to secure Agent Barton has been de-aged.”

There was a pause and Phil could almost hear Director Fury blinking in surprise. “What?”

“Agent Barton appears to be physically between the age of three and five though I have not been able to assess his emotional or mental state as he has been unconscious. Currently he appears to be sleeping though I admit I'm not particularly experienced with small children.”

Director Fury made a noise that could have been an amused snort or a swear. Quite possibly it was a bit of each. “How does this impact the mission?”

Phil frowned. The urge to pull the plug on the whole damn thing and take Clint back to Helicarrier was strong, but they were close to their goal and he hated to leave an op unfinished unless absolutely necessary. The warehouse that they had just taken was the third in a string that led them ever closer to locating Hydra's headquarters. The agents that had been allowed to escape were being tracked by S.H.I.E.L.D and Natasha would pick up the surveillance as soon as they went to ground. “Not at all. Black Widow is in place and we are still go when she locates the target.”

There was a pause and Director Fury sighed. “What do you need from me?

“Someone from medical who is familiar with young children. Clothes and shoes in several sizes. Underwear and socks included.”

“They'll be in the air within the hour. Keep me apprised of the situation.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Phil snapped the phone closed and slid it into the pocket of his suit jacket. Rubbing his temple where the headache was beginning to form he headed towards the tiny kitchen to make some coffee. The situation really required something a lot stronger, but now was not the time to give into that urge. A small noise behind him made Phil spin. His hand was on his pistol when he spotted a flash as the boy, Clint he told himself, ducked back into the bedroom. He sighed before heading towards the bedroom, all thoughts of coffee abandoned.

There was no sign of Clint when Phil entered the darkened room. The window was secured and Phil let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. Defenestration was one of adult Clint's favorite means of escaping captivity and Phil doubted that in his current size and state he would be able to accomplish it without causing major damage to himself. Then again this was Clint so anything was possible.

His eyes flicked around the room taking in the barely disturbed covers that showed how carefully Clint had slipped out of bed. There was no wardrobe or closet and the suitcases were still where he had left them. The ceiling was smooth and lacking in exposed beams or other hiding places. That meant there was only one place for a small boy to hide. Crouching down Phil scanned under the bed. From the deepest well of shadow a pair of solemn blue eyes met his straight on and unblinking. Neither moved for the space of a long moment before Phil blew out a breath and lowered himself so he was lying on his stomach next to the cold metal bed frame.

“I'm Phil.” He pointed to himself and smiled. “Can you tell me your name?”

Clint blinked his eyes, but said nothing.

“Are you hungry? Thirsty?” Phil tried his most winning smile. The one that he used when he was trying to recruit new assets.

With a shake of his head Clint attempted to retreat back further into the dark. It wasn't much, but at least it was a response. Phil had worked with less. Hoping that little Clint was a smaller version of the man he knew Phil nodded and smiled again. “Okay. I'm going to go to the kitchen and have some coffee. There's milk if you want it.” Carefully telegraphing his moves Phil backed away then stood up and headed for the kitchen.

*****

It was almost two hours later and Phil was just about a third of the way through the first of many reports that had been generated by the situation when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Without speaking he stood and moved to the refrigerator purposely keeping his back to the doorway. From inside he removed a carton of milk and emptied a quarter of it into a glass that he had found in one of the cabinets. He filled it three fourths of the way to the top then returned the carton to the refrigerator. Setting the glass down as far away as possible from the paperwork that was spread across the table he returned to his seat and went back to work.

It didn't take Clint more than ten minutes to make his way across the kitchen to the table. Once the glass was in his hands he chugged it down, pausing twice to catch his breath before diving back in.

“Are you hungry?” Phil looked up making sure to keep his movements smooth and slow. The response this time was a nod and hesitant smile that died almost immediately. The boy kept his eyes lowered though Phil could see how he used his peripheral vision to study the world around him.

There wasn't much in the refrigerator but Phil was able to scrape together a sandwich, some grapes and another glass of milk. He set them down on the far edge of the table and made a mental note to thank Natasha for insisting that they needed to have some food in the apartment just in case. Even though this was probably not the contingency she had in mind it had paid off none the less.

Clint eyed the food, sidling close to snatch the sandwich then began eating it as quickly as his body would allow. By the time Clint had finished his second glass of milk his movements were becoming less furtive and more sluggish. No doubt a result of the food and the strain on his body from transforming. Not to mention the rugged pace this mission had set. There were dark rings under the boy's eyes and he was swaying on his feet.

Tamping down heavily on the rage he was feeling Phil forced himself to smile. He knew Clint's history front to back, but it was much easier to set it aside when dealing with a strong willed, confident adult. Seeing the results of years of physical and emotional abuse in the form of a scared child brought it home in a way that made the desire to hurt someone hum in his ears. Now was not the time for that. Clint needed him to be calm and safe so that is what Phil would do. “Bedtime.”

Phil stood allowing Clint to keep the table between them. He nodded, head drooping then frowned. “Potty.”

A sigh of relief escaped before Phil could think to contain it. That answered one big question he had had. Dealing with a child was going to be challenging enough. An unpotty trained one was so far outside of his skill set it wasn't even funny. He smiled and reached out a hand surprised and gratified when Clint hesitantly took it holding it loosely in case he needed to make a quick escape.

At the bathroom door Clint pulled away and after looking around the door and scanning the room completely he stepped in. “Do you need help?” The offer of assistance with met with a withering look that was pure master assassin and world class smart ass. Phil had been on the receiving end of it more times than he could count courtesy of Clint's tendency to end up in medical on a regular basis and the familiarity sent a surprising shock wave of relief running through him. “I'll be right here. Call if you need anything.”

Phil leaned against the wall letting his eyes slip closed for the space of a moment, smiling when he heard the toilet flush then the water turn on. Clint's hands were still damp as was the front of his shirt when he emerged from the bathroom testifying to the fact that the effort at Heine was based more in desire than skill. The lack of sleep was weighing heavier as he seemed to be struggling to put one foot in front of the other. Crouching down so they were on eye level Phil spoke softly. “Do you want me to carry you?”

Clint's eyes snapped open and a look of pure fear flashed across his face before he slumped against the wall all the fight drained from him in a single flash of adrenaline. Once again Phil had to suppress the white hot anger towards the people who would treat a child so badly. Part of him dearly wished that there was a way to resurrect Clint's parents so that he could have the pleasure of killing them with his bare hands. He called softly keeping his tone and volume pitched low. “You don't have to if you don't want to. You can say no. I will listen. I promise.”

“No.” Clint's voice was soft, barely audible, but it contained the fragile hope of a child who had, until that moment, not known such a thing existed.

“Okay.” Phil stood and offered his hand. “Do you want to walk with me?” Clint nodded and took the hand. Where before his hold had been almost non-existent he now clung tightly as if it was the only thing keeping his head above water. “I won't let anyone hurt you. You're safe now.”

In the bedroom Clint climbed up onto the bed and let Phil tuck him in. As his eyes were drifting close he curled into himself making his body as small as possible. For the briefest span of a moment they opened and he pinned Phil with a solemn gaze. “Clint.” The word was whisper soft and held the rounded edges of a baby's voice. In the next instant he was asleep, his breathing deep and steady in the other wise silent room.

Phil stood watching, his brain trying to process the gift of trust he had just been given. Names had power especially to a child as secretive as Clint. It brought a protective streak to the forefront that Phil had never completely let himself feel before. This was rooted deep in his subconscious and tapped into something that made sure the species would continue on. He'd known for a long time that he would kill or die to protect Clint and Natasha, but this was more, it demanded that he force himself to live no matter the circumstances to be there whenever he was needed. It was humbling and exhilarating at the same time.

Back out in the living room Phil kicked off his shoes and stripped down his underwear and t shirt. He grabbed one of the extra blankets that was already piled on the couch, folding it into a makeshift sleeping bag before curling up inside. Despite the coffee he had consumed waiting for Clint to make his way to the kitchen Phil was asleep as soon as his head hit the cushion.

*****

“No one is going to hurt you. I promise. Dr. Riley is going to make sure you aren't sick or hurt. If he does anything you don't want him to you all you have to say is no and he'll stop.”

Clint blinked, studying Phil's face then twisting at the waist to do the same for Dr. Riley and the junior agent who was acting as his nurse. Dismissing them he turned back to face Phil who was currently kneeling in front of him so that their eyes were on the same level. “I can say no.”

Phil rocked back a bit on his heels in surprise. There was no question in Clint's words this time, it was a flat statement. The words were clearer and less baby sounding. Now that he took the time to really look he realized that the contours of Clint's face were less soft and his body was closer to adult proportions than when he had gone to bed. Quashing what might be premature hope he nodded equally solemnly back at the boy. “Yes, you can.”

“Okay.”

With Clint sitting on Phil's lap the boy allowed the doctor to listen to his heart and lungs and then look in his mouth and nose.

“Take off his shirt.”

“His name is Clint and you should _ask_ him if he wants to remove it.”

Dr. Riley snorted in obvious disagreement and reached for the bottom of the oversized t-shirt that Clint had not yet changed out of. He had added underwear to his outfit when the doctor and his assistant arrived bringing with them the clothes that Phil had requested, but had shown no desire to do more than that.

“No.” Clint pressed back against Phil, his body almost vibrating with tension. “No!”

The doctor's hand was captured in a vise like grip just inches away from the hem of Clint's shirt and he was met with a steely gaze. “We respect other people's boundaries here. No means stop. Immediately. That is not up for negotiation.”

Dr. Riley attempted to pull his hand back then glared when there was no give. “He's a child and that means he doesn't have a say in it.”

“His body, his call.” Phil shoved the man's wrist away and shifted into what was clearly a defensive posture. “This exam is over. You can give me your results now.”

“He seems healthy enough from what I can tell.” Dr. Riley's petulant tone made it very clear that he was displeased by limitations put on him. “That was hardly a complete physical and I didn't do any blood work at all.” He finished putting the last of his equipment away and snapped the clasps on the tooled leather case. “A little underweight, but not dangerously so and it is not uncommon as he is probably in the middle of a growth spurt. I would place his age at about six, six and a half.”

“That's older than I had originally thought.”

“Yes, well, you aren't a medical professional so it is not a surprise.” Dr. Riley half turned and tugged another case closer to himself before pulling out a bottle of clear liquid and a syringe. At the sight of the needle Clint stiffened then began to whimper. In one smooth move Phil stood shifting Clint behind him.

“What is that for?”

“Tetanus and hepatitis inoculations. He'll need others as well, but they can't all be given at the same time.”

“No.” Phil's hand rested lightly on the top of Clint's head to steady and reassure him as the child tried to burrow into the back of Phil's knees. “Agent Barton is current on his inoculations. His records are on file with medical.”

“We don't know what he has been exposed to since then and we have no idea if the ones he had stuck before he...” Dr. Riley waved a dismissive hand in the general direction of Phil's impeccably tailored legs.

“And if they have?” Phil's tone was light and conversational in direct contrast with the battle ready stance of his body.

“Probably nothing.”

“Probably?”

“There is always the risk of overdose which could result in seizures, brain damage or death, but the chances are very low.”

“We'll take our chances.” Phil smiled, politely bland. “Agent Barton is too valuable to risk on a probably. When that is secured we can proceed.” He nodded at the shot that Dr. Riley still held. There was a short battle of wills before the doctor handed the syringe to the junior agent with a frustrated sigh.

“You will have sign a waiver and I will make sure that Director Fury is informed.”

“Please do.” The corner of Phil's mouth quirked up for a split second. “I certainly plan to include it in my report.”

*****

 

“How is he?”

“Sleeping.” Phil didn't look up from the report he was working on when Natasha dropped bonelessly into the chair next to him.

“And?” He could feel the raised eyebrow she pointed in his direction, but ignored it in favorite of finishing the sentence he was writing.

“Still a child though he seems to be aging at the rate of a year every four hours. He told me he was nine when I put him to bed and that was about an hour ago. He's outgrown everything that I had sent. Tomorrow I am going to have to find something else for him to wear until he grows into his own things again.”

“Four days.”

Phil sighed and looked up from his laptop. “Providing the growth rate remains constant and stops when it reaches his current age. But yes, four days.”

“You could go back. Take him to the helicarrier where he can be watched.” Natasha's voice was flat displaying none of the anxiety Phil could read in way she held her body.

“We have a mission to complete. As long as he's not in any danger there is no reason for us not to stay and see it through.”

She considered his words then rose to get a mug from the cabinet. Comfortable silence descended on the room as she made her tea taking her time with the process. When she sat back down the tension was gone from her shoulders and her expression was softer around the edges. “The mission is second. If it comes down to it. I won't trade Hawkeye just to bring home a success for Fury.”

“It's not any success.” Phil's voice was low and soothing. “It's your chance to prove you should be allowed to be out in the field.”

Natasha shrugged and sipped at her tea. “There are always more missions.”

Phil nodded, there was a ring of truth to her words that was mirrored in the all too knowing look of her eyes. A sense of having seen too much and been forced to grow up much too soon that she shared with Clint sat on her shoulders as lightly as the strands of dark red hair that tumbled down her back. The world was not always a kind place to be and they had both learned the lessons too young to not carry the scars on their souls. “Have you located the target?”

“Yes. I have the coordinates in my phone. Pictures too.” Neither one mentioned that she could have sent them instead of coming in person to hand them off. This visit was as much about assessing the situation with her own eyes as it was about passing on intel.

“Why don't you go check on him while I transfer everything over?”

The phone materialized next to his laptop along with Natasha's mug which was now empty except for a thin layer of reddish brown liquid at the bottom. He didn't look up when he heard the scrape of the chair moving on the tile telling him she had agreed to his offer.

The information appeared to be sound and Phil was already working on mission parameters when she rejoined him. “They are getting ready to move out. If we don't take them out tomorrow they'll be gone.”

“Contact me if anything changes.” He disconnected her phone and handed it back after making sure the battery had a full charge. “We'll meet at zero hundred hours at the same staging point we had for the last raid.” She nodded, pocketed the phone and was gone as silently as she had arrived.

Several hours later when Phil closed the laptop in anticipation of getting a few hours of rest he noticed that Clint's bow, quiver and uniform were piled carefully in a corner of the living room. When he went to check on Clint before crashing on the couch he found that the blankets had been tucked up tight under his chin and clutched to his chest was a stuffed toy hawk.

*****

 

“Why not?” Clint crossed his arms over his chest and glared. His face was younger, with the soft edges that puberty had not worn off yet, than Phil was used to, but the expression was pure Agent Barton. The shyness had worn away while he slept and over the course of the day Clint had grown from a frightened child into an angry, stubborn, adolescent. It gave Phil a moment of sympathy for every parent that had ever had to live with or worse, reason with, an teenager who was determined to have his way. When the mission was over with and they were safely back in New York his parents would be getting a long over due apology letter accompanied by roses and theater tickets.

Briskly suppressing the flare of pride that Clint had not let the life he had led beat him down, Phil sighed and shook his head. “This is non-negotiable Agent Barton.” He kept his tone calm and even as a counterpoint to Clint's increasing volume. “We have no idea what your current skill set is and beyond that you're currently a minor. I am not taking someone on a mission who is not legally capable of consenting to the risks into the field.”

“Jesus Christ, Coulson! You're not my father! You don't get to tell me what I can do. It's my decision what I do with my fucking life!”

“No, I'm not.” A flash of red hot rage spiked through Phil and he pushed it down using his blandest expression to mask what he was feeling. “I'm your handler and that makes me responsible for keeping you safe and making sure you return back to base in one piece. It is completely within my power to pull you from a mission and I am doing so. Once you've been cleared by medical and debriefed we will discuss returning you to active duty, but not before then.”

“You're an asshole!” Clint stormed past Phil heading for the bedroom. “Don't come crying to me when you get shot and bleed all over your suit!” The door slammed, rattling the lamp on the coffee table. “It'll be your own fucking fault if you die!” The words were muffled through thick walls and a solid core door, but were still clearly meant to be heard.

That had gone about as well as Phil had thought it would. Even as an adult Clint hated being left out of an op that Phil or Natasha were on. Adding in raging hormones and epic levels of self righteous anger had just made the situation much more volatile. He checked his watch and sighed. Two hours until he needed to leave to meet Natasha at the staging point. Maybe the next one hundred and twenty minutes would bring about enough maturity for Clint to see reason. Phil snorted, the corner of his mouth quirking up in the mockery of a smile. Who was he kidding? The only difference between the man that he knew and the boy that had stomped down the hall was this Clint had given up the fight easier than usual.

*****

 

The deja vu was so strong it manifested in the form of mental vertigo. From his perch in the rafters Clint hunkered down watching the men below him load crate after crate of God only knew what onto a forklift so it could be transferred to half a dozen waiting trucks. He felt like he was watching a movie that was running in fast forward mode. Memories and knowledge just appeared in his head without the context of having experienced them this time around. The sense that being up equated to safety fit the same way that his suit, loose now in places though he knew that would change, did and yet didn't. He couldn't seem to shake the feeling that he was living two lives in two lines that were about to run head long into each other.

Clint had been surprised at how easy it had been to talk Phil into letting him use his phone to play Angry Birds. From there he was able to access all the mission info including the location of the warehouse where he was currently hiding out. He felt a twinge of guilt about Phil, but it had passed quickly. The man had taken good care of Clint and the need to be there to watch his back pulled so strongly that there was no way that he could have just sat in the apartment like a good boy. Or a wife. Clint frowned then shook off the idea like water off a drenched dog. Phil was kind of hot, but he was way too old. That just made things weird and creepy. At least right now. Maybe when he was himself again it might be different. Clint set that thought aside to reconsider another time.

Below him there was shouting and bursts of gunfire as S.H.I.E.L.D made its presence known right on schedule. Clint's gaze searched for and found Natasha in the thick of things. She and a small group of agents were on the left flank and working their way into the building despite taking heavy fire. He sent a couple of rapid fire arrows into the cluster of Hydra agents blocking her progress. One of them went down bleeding profusely from a wound in his leg. Another toppled over with an arrow through his eye.

Natasha and her worked their way further into the warehouse aided by the quickly clearing space in front of them. When they were in position near the back she looked up pinning Clint in place under her intense gaze. He had no doubt she knew exactly where he was and could have put a bullet through him if she chose. It was a frightening and yet strangely comforting feeling. The longer he crouched there, muscles tense and eyes seeing everything, the more his body felt right, as if it actually belonged to him again.

With Clint doing sniper duty and Natasha's group pushing from the back it wasn't long before the Hydra agents were subdued. Judging from the documents recovered in the trucks and the bodies among the dead the warehouse had indeed been the regional headquarters. All that remained was to hand over the clean up of the scene to an agent in charge of such things. On his perch Clint shifted into a more relaxed position that would allow him to lean back again the wall. His neck, back and shoulders ached from drawing the bow. His aim had been good, damn good, despite the minimal amount of knowledge and practice he knew he's had, but he'd needed to double and occasionally triple up on shots that should have only taken one.

It felt good though. The exhaustion and the peace that came with it. He's protected people; kept them alive and relatively unharmed. That touched something buried deep inside and made it grow. He was someone who kept other people safe. The life that he had lived, was living, would be living, he had chosen to be like Phil instead of his father. That meant he was a much better man than he had ever hoped to be when he was really this age.

There was something freeing in that knowledge and Clint settled himself more solidly in the corner between the two beams. He let his gaze follow Natasha and Phil as they came together then separated time and time again. There was a pattern to their movements that reminded Clint of the spikes and valleys of a heartbeat. Slowly, without being consciously aware, he let it lull him into a feeling of safety and sleep.

*****

“You can come down now.”

The words were soft, but powerful enough to carry up to Clint and pull him from sleep. He stretched and yawned, letting the moment draw out even though he knew he was well and truly caught. There would be no escape or denial of what he had done. He blinked several times and shook his head clearing the sleep from his eyes. When he felt he was as awake as he needed to be Clint carefully lowered the rope he had used to get to his perch and climbed down.

“You disobeyed a direct order.” Phil's suit looked impeccable despite having been through a fire fight and a night of cataloging a warehouse full of Hydra equipment and experiments. Only the brightness of his eyes and the small upward quirk of his lips gave any indication that he was pleased with what had been accomplished in the last few hours.

Clint shrugged. “I'm a minor. You can't give me orders, you said so yourself.” There was a brief pause and he added Sir because it felt like the right thing to do.  
Phil quirked an eyebrow, but did not respond verbally, letting the silence unwind between them. It wasn't long before Clint shuffled his feet and mumbled. “You needed me.”

“Of course. You wouldn't have been assigned to the mission in the first place if your skills weren't necessary.” When Clint started to speak Phil raised hand to forestall the question visible on Clint's face. “You're important to more than just this mission. As I said before, you're a minor and currently not in possession of the knowledge and skills required to keep yourself out of harm's way.”

“I did it.” Clint's smirk was a pale imitation of what it would be when he had a few more years of practice and self confidence building experience under his belt.

“You were lucky.”

“I'm good.” Clint puffed his chest out in a show of adolescent posturing and bravado.

Phil snorted letting some of the amusement he was feeling show on his face. “But not nearly as good as you will be.” With that he turned and headed tor the door trusting that Clint would follow.


End file.
